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RIMES 



A BOOK OF SOLDIER VERSE 




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I KHAKI RIMES | 

I cA ^ook of Soldier Verse I 



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<BY 


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MRS. ADNA CLARKE 




Author of 




"Little Rimes of the Garrison," Etc. 





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r HONOLULU : 

E PARADISE OF THE PACIHC E 

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Copyright 1920 by Mrs. Adna Clarke. 
All rights reserved 



C1A56882; 



m 17 1920 






To all 'who have followed the flag 




CONTENTS 



Page 

A Bum Bugler 14 

A Christmas Toast to the Ninth 

Mine Company 40 

A Joke on the Parson 31 

A Slight Mistake 41 

Acrostic to the Flag 19 

Army Fever 19 

Asleep at the Switch (Board 40 

"Character Fair" 26 

Discovered 45 

Disappointed 33 

Doing Time 30 

Environment 40 

Fate's Foibles 21 

From a Private's Jolonel 36 

Fortress Monroe 38 

Going Up 45 

Guard-House Tom 29 

Her Reason 41 

In the Mine Company 45 

Just Pickles 10 

Khaki Boy 5 

Leap Year 19 

Left Behind 38 

"Long Boy's" Return 16 

"Long Boy" Reenlists 16 

Marooned 39 

"Mess Call" 30 

Mrs. Casey's Proposal 17 

My Valentine 15 

Orders 32 

Out of Sight 45 

"Overcoats" 36 

Over the Hill 35 

Pilikea 22 

Pinched 27 



Page 

Plantin' Mines 33 

Rejected 39 

Rescued 29 

Righteously Indignant 36 

Sally and the Sentry 37 

Sergeant Ferry, Ninety-Seventh 

C. A. C 34 

Sergeant Dave g 

Simple Simon to Date 6 

Soldier and Gentleman 18 

Some Lost Chevrons 41 

Stub's Request 38 

The Abandoned Garrison 20 

The Baby Bugler 26 

The Bugler's Valentine 18 

The Controversy 27 

The Engineer's Christmas Dream — 42 

The Fate of O'Shannon 40 

The Launching 37 

The Little Top 5 

The Little Tin Soldier 24 

The Passing of the Blue 15 

The Provo' 28 

The Recruit 41 

The Soldier's Farewell 46 

The Soldier's New Year 39 

The Sprint of the Sprinter 29 

The Volunteer Band 8 

Tommy of Our Nine 12 

War's Aftermath 25 

When "Dixie" Played 6 

When "Fire Call" Blows 13 

When the Big Guns Shoot 23 

When My Daddie Made One 

Hundred Per Cent 35 

Winter in the Old Fort 22 



MAY 17 1920 



Khaki Rimes 



KHAKI BOY 



V^e're retumin' somewhat cocky from our trip to Berlin rocky, 
But of course we aren't hintin' for the smallest kind of scrap; 

Itill we'd like to get our hand in at the round up and the brandin' 
Of any vicious mavericks that roam this festive map. 

>ince we helped to chase the kaiser 'cross the Marne and Aisne and 
Eiser ; 
Chased him till his re-enforcements couldn't fill the bloody gap. 

fow as Uncle Sam's recruitin', if there's apt to be some shootin', 
Why our recent practise put us in the very best o' trim ; 

?o keep Sammy's house in order from Seattle to the border, 
We've several million trusty gims to turn the trick for him. 

^hase each profiteer and miser as we chased his nibs, ihe kaiser, 
'Cross the desert and the mountains to the ocean's furthest rim. 

n our dusty suits of khaki, we will mount our broncho's balky ; 

Mount our battleships and whippet tanks and giant aircraft, too — 
lave a care, you lazy piker, and you bolshevistic striker ; 

Have a care, O foreign brother, it is your red, white and blue! 
?eat it, Pancho Villa's minions, 'cause we're bound to clip your 
pinions ; 

It's a cinch that me and Sammy will be lookin' after you ! 



THE LITTLE TOP 

), there's trouble in the quarters ! Sergeant's mad as he kin be. 

And he says that all the company's on the bum. 
rhere were Privates Jones and Leary slept clean thru the "Reveille, 

And two corporals from their passes haven't come. 
Che captain's lookin' sidewise and pretendin' not to hear, 

As each errin' rookie takes his cussin' out; 
■Lven young shavetail lieutenant makes his gitaway from here, 

When the angry little sergeant comes about. 

D, there's music in the quarters! You kin hear a violin. 

Sergeant's teachin' of the rookies how to dance ; 
rhe piano is a-helpin' with its workin's from within, 

You kin tell each one is happy at a glance ; 
\.s the tall ones and the short ones, the thick ones and the thin, 

Glide swiftly past upon the barrack floor; 
for the Little Top's a-smilin' as he plays his violin. 

And everything is peaceful-like once m(/re. 



Khaki Rimes 
WHEN DIXIE PLAYED 

The light shone bright on strap and epaulette, 

On ruddy tress of gold and braid of jet, 

On service chevrons proud, and medals won 

On gory fields for deeds of valor done. 

The music echoed wild and thrilling sweet, 

The tripping of a thousand merry feet, 

But one lone heart no lilting song had made; 

You were not there to dance when "Dixie" played! 

And many partners sought the hand to claim 

That yearned but yours, nor cared for war's proud fame 

Of added palm on well-earned medal rare. 

But loves the simple chevron that you wear. 

'Twas fate had called you far away that night; 

Had made for you a world of joy and light; 

You could not know how sad a heart was made, 

That night so long ago, when "Dixie" played. 

All honor, then, to those your heart holds dear, 
And Heaven guard you close from year to year ; 
And teach you, Dear, that battles brave are fought 
In other place than pagan war's foul spot ; 
That added strength is given for victory won, 
'Tho medals may not show for deeds well done; 
It may have been a song triumphal made 
Within that lonely heart when "Dixie" played! 



SIMPLE SIMON TO DATE 
He Meets the "Y" Secretary 

Simple Simon met the "Y" man 

Going to the "Y", 
Said Simple Simon of the "Y" man: 

"Gosh, here's that singing guy!" 

Said then the "Y" man to Simple Simon: 
"O Soldier, won't you sing?" 

Said Simple Simon to the "Y" man: 
"I do not know a thing." 

Then said the "Y" man to Simple Simon : 
"I'll teach you hymns, ere long," 

Said Simple Simon to the "Y" man : 
"I cannot sing a song." 



Khaki Rimes 



Said then the "Y" man to Simple Simon: 
"We'll con these songs by rote." 

Said Simple Simon to the "Y" man: 
"I'll not sing a gol-durned note!" 

He Meets the Padre 

Simple Simon met the Skyman, 

Coming down the square; 
Said Simple Simon to the Skyman : 

"O pray for me a prayer !" 

Then said the Skyman to Simple Simon : 
"But first confess your sins." 
Said Simple Simon to the Skyman : 

"That's where your guess begins." 

"But," said the Skyman to Simple Simon, 

"That surely can't be hard." 
Said Simple Simon to the Skyman: 

"They're himtin' for me, Pard!" 

"Ah," said the Skyman to Simple Simon, 

"Your soul is lost, I vow !" 
Wept Simple Simon to the Skyman: 

"Quick! Hide my o-kole-bao!" 

He Meets the "CO." 

Simple Simon met the Highman, 

Puffing down the line, 
Greets Simple Simon thus the Highman: 

"Ain't this weather fine!" 

Growled back the Highman to Simple Simon: 

"Why th'ell don't you salute ?" 
Smirked Simple Simon to the Highman : 

"I think this way is cute." 

Sneered then the Highman to Simple Simon: 

"Your arguments are nil." 
Now Simple Simon wonders why 

He's living in the mill ! 



8 Khaki Rimes 

THE VOLUNTEER BAND 

Since I became a Regular, some time in nineteen-two, 

I've changed the rank upon my strap, likewise some points of view. 

I've been Athletic Officer for almost every year; 

And one time in addition had Artillery Engineer, 

Together with the Post Exchange, also Judge Advocate, 

And school official for the kids, and, strangest to relate, 

When to the far off Philippines was sent the Medico, 

I had his property to check, but couldn't name it, tho; 

There being instruments of course I couldn't understand; 

But my saddest xmdertaking is a Volimteer Band! 

The Roman leader small and dark, has ancient pedigree, 
Extending back to Caesar's time in classic Italy. 
Nor vibrant flutes of Uterpc, Pandean pipes of Pan, 
Can trill a note too intricate for his quick ear to scan; 
If but a hairbreadth off the key some dusty lip or throat, 
Comes down his baton with a whack: "You maka da bum note!" 
And gives his pupils such a stare, full agonized and stony, 
"Maka me feel all same," he groans, "hair in da macaroni !" 

At this some soldier nearly bursts who'd long suppressed his mirth, 
And drops from classic Mendelssohn back to imclassic earth. 
The trombone growls a stidden stop, then softly swears a time, 
Awhile their swarthy leader vows his resignation soon. 
Sometimes the bass horn gets a pass and paints the city red, 
And comrades seeking his reform will find a broken head. 
One day a baritone said : "Boys, let's have a little spree. 
And treat the dear professor to a little pleasantry." 
And then they turned the hose upon the bed and music books ; 
Now apropos of deluges, this drenching came from Brooks. 

Professor said the slide trombone was off the note a beat. 

The slide trombone consigned him to a place of lasting heat. 

One member lost his instrument while doing field day stunts. 

And half the band were marking time within the mill at once. 

The Roman leader passing thence beside their captain said: 

"Academic de Music, Sir," and wagged a scornful head. 

So thus with rag-time artists always changing classic rune, 

To "Play him something nice and slow; play him that Chopin tune;" 

While poor Professor tears his hair and vaguely wonders why 

His band should rather play in jazz "That Lovin' Traumeri," 

Than the sweet song that Schumann wrote. I've most made up my 

mind 
To go on leave and have a rest, the band to stay behind. 



Khaki Rimes 



So when I strike another post and jobs are passed about, 
Just give me anything yon wish, but h^ave the music out. 
I'd rather count out any junk that's used in peace or war; 
Or anything a medico might use to make or mar; 
And if I must have melody, I'd rather have it canned, 
Than a scrappy aggregation like a Volunteer Band! 



SERGEANT DAVE 

He aint no ladies' pet, Dave aint; 

And I don't guess Dave's any saint 

He's sporty some, 'twixt you and me, 

And likes a good prize fight to see. 

A soldier Dave, from head to foot. 

And I am sure no khaki suit 

E'er held a nobler form than his; 

Altho' the scale goes out o' biz 

When Dave gets on. His hair's some grey; 

His eyes are blue as skies o' May. 

If you should meet misfortune grave, 
A friend in need you'll find in Dave; 
But if you've got a yellow streak, 
Don't play no games o' hide and seek 
With Dave. He's full up to the brim 
O' cuteness. No shell game works him. 
He's married, yes. A model, too, 
O' husbands ; which aint always true 
O' soldiers. Being used to roam 
They don't take much to cares o' home. 

His rank? He's canteen sergeant- Yes, 
He'll stay his thirty years, I guess; 
And when his time down here is spent, 
With character writ "Excellent," 
He seeks above to re-enlist. 
Old Peter just cannot resist; 
So bavin' looked the veteran o'er, 
A-comin' toward the golden shore, 
He calls across the waters dark — 
'Fore Dave has time to disembark 
On Heaven's side the Stygian wave: 
"Come on! We're waitin' for ye, Dave!" 



Khaki Rimes 



JUST PICKLES'^- 



There are several kinds of pickles, namely fifty-seven sorts; 
Unlike a brand much advertised, not bottled up in quarts. 
They are bottled up in quarters, several pickles to a room; 
They view historic Leavenworth with eyes bedimmed with gloom. 
There are pickles small and pickles tall, and pickles slim and stout; 
With eyes of blue, of brown, of black, and shades one can't make out ; 
With hair that curls in lovelocks sweet, and hair that's straight as 

strings, 
And some are bad and some are good — you hear the whirr of wings. 
They are sweet, some of these pickles, some are sour as well worked 

wine ; 
But great and small, these pickles all are mostly still in brine. 

Xow this infant pickle bottle has the name of Zoo affixed ; 

(This metamorphosed metaphor is like the pickles mixed.) 

There's Mack who spends his days and nights in wait for "dead men's 

shoes," 
And Tank, who not for anything would take, a drop of booze. 
There's Alice dear, in Wonderland, all fairy dreams bedight, 
And Texas in the English class, who says: "Why, ain't that right?" 
"O. D.", the newest pickle, sought to use the Major's phone; 
Dropped in one day from riding when he thought the house alone ; 
Thought the Major was the stryker, when in golf clothes he came in. 
IN^ow that pickle is much wiser and he wears a chastened griu. 
There's a pensive little pickle has a sweetheart in the South ; 
And waits her letters as the flowers the rainfall after drouth. 

In slumbers locked at bimk fatigue, he dreams of letters s«eet, 

And rouses up when mail time comes, the postman prompt to greet ; 

But failing thus to realize the missive of his sleep ; 

The disappointed pickle falls upon his bunk to weep. 

That he should lack in bravery, tho, we would not have you think ; 

For when a sentry left his post to get a little drink. 

And doubtless thought our pickle just a harmless, homesick pill. 

He soon saw things more clearly thru the windows of the mill. 

A sweet Virginia pickle sought to join the little game 

Of the Colonel and some jovial friends, and seeming somewhat tame, 

Said thus the lonesome pickle as he wistful watched the play: 

"Do you-all want a shavetail come and take your cash away?" 

There's Ignat^ thinks instructors all not blessed with too much sense. 

And with the phrase, "I got cher," clinches all his arguments. 

One day a pickle visitor had heard remark his host: 



1 



Khaki Rimes 



"A fine day for men on fatigue policing up the post." 
"Why," said the pickle, in his eyes astonishment most clear: 
'"With several thousand soldiers, do you have policemen here?" 

A short New England pickle, prim, is truly Bostonese. 

Another nickname given him is Hortense, if you please. 

Why wild west shows are mere child's sport and Buffalo Bill most 

tame. 
Compared with Hortense when he hits the bronco-bustin' game. 
There's Dickie went to sleep in class and nearly died of fright, 
When asked by his instructor when he retired at night. 
"At twelve. Sir," said the culprit, small. Instructor nailed him 

straight : 
"Young man, tonight just see that you go straight to bed at eight!" 
And following this tragedy the social column frank. 
Records: "A slumber party last night, by Mr. Blank." 

Now the anarchistic pickle was a soldier in the ranks; 

Regards his gTave instructors all, as military cranks. 

He loves to bring forth arguments, a thousand in a row. 

"Why us men in the ranks," sneers he, "did so, and so, and so." 

There's Dudie always loves to prink and prune his plumage fine. 

Before he goes to call or hop, or with his friends to dine. 

It's manicure and perfume and powder night and day. 

Large bills for camouflage are paid to Pinaud and Gallet. 

We've an Ancient Lady pickle, makes you toe the mark, all right; 

We also have the Skipper, whose decks are cleared for fight. 

We've Duke who shaved his mustache off, now herds with the elite. 

And here's the doughty Admiral, "Turn out the bloomin' fleet!" 

Perhaps you are a pickle, too, of meek and modest mien. 
If so, don't let the wise ones have a chance to call you green. 
And when your sabre you return, don't jab it thru yoiir cap ; 
Or if you should, don't be dismayed, for even such mishap. 
Don't try to tell the General how to plan some martial feat; 
And if on guard, I must advise don't smoke thruout retreat. 
So like King Arthur's knights of old, endure in manly quest. 
And some day, Son, you too will be a highbrow like the rest! 

*Note: — The class of Second Lieutenants from civil life being trained at 
Fort Leavenworth are called "Pickles," just as those at Fortress Monroe are 
called Incubates or "Incs." 



12 Khaki Rimes 



TOMMY OF OUR NINE 



You don't know Tommy, not at all ? 
Ain't never seen him pitch a ball ? 
Well, you sure got a treat in store, 
That you ain't never had before. 
For Tommy he can throw sucli curves, 
They sure get on a player's nerves; 
A circle's just a wobbly line, 
When Tommy pitches for our nine. 

Now when they strike at that there ball, 
The thing's not simply there at all; 
And every batter put to rout; 
Just gets him quickly down and out; 
And throws his club down with a bump, 
And then they holler, "Kill the Ump!" 
His spitters they are simply fine, 
When Tommy pitches for our Nine. 

One day we played a college team 

With uniforms a perfect dream; 

But Tommy he just grinned in glee, 

And sorter twisted up his knee. 

Brought round his arm with graceful swerve, 

And dextrous threw a double curve. 

Then biff! With bated breath we wait! 
It speeds exactly o'er the plate. 
And third goes out with gloomy face 
And runners dead on every base. 
You bet it makes the Army shine. 
When Tommy pitches for our Nine! 

And when our Tommy comes to bat 
He isn't slow at all at that. 
He makes some bases — one, two, three ; 
Or maybe it's a home run. Gee! 
But if you're on the other side. 
Poor devil, you will have to slide; 
For he's so foxy with the ball 
You can't tell where it's gone at all, 
Nor on his movements get a line, 
When Tommy's battin' for our Nine. 



Khaki Rimes 13 



So when at last his schedule done, 
And all of Tommy's bases run, 
A fancied voice from realms sublime, 
Keeps talking baseball all the time; 
We judge at e'en this distance great; 
He's safely landed 'cross the plate; 
Bright may his star forever shine. 
For Tommy of our Army Nine! 



WHEN "FIRE CALL" BLOWS 

You brag about the recent scrap on Boche-strewn battlefields, 
Where seeds of nurtured hate and greed a ghastly harvest yields; 
You'd better check that memory steed in reminiscent prance; 
There's excitement in the present at a soldier dance! 
If you happen to be waltzin' with your blushing baby Rose, 
You'll change it to a quickstep 

If "Fire Call" blows! 

I remember once attendin' a jolly soldier hop, 

And settin' next to Sally, gettin' ready for to pop 

The all-important question, when we heard the biigle blow. 

'Twas just a practice "Call to Arms," but each one had to go. 

And by the time we all returned, the ball had reached its close; 

But even "Call to Arms" is tame 

When "Fire Call" blows! 

You're dancin' with your Tootsie, "Dardanella's" soft refrain, 

When all at once the bugle's sound cuts in with lusty strain. 

Uncanny notes of "Fire Call" go up your spine in creeps. 

And all the frightened wimmen folk are faintin' 'round in heaps! 

You beat it for the open — ^no livin' human's woes 

Could stop a Reg'lar soldier man 

When "Fire Call" blows! 

As "Recall' sounds, you nm amuck a soldier khaki clad ; 

"And did your Tootsie Wootsie faint?" you ask the stalwart lad. 

He gives you one long starin' look that all your courage saps — • 

By the fourteen jumpin' tom-cats ! There are bars upon his straps ! 

Then like a flash you fade away, to go back and propose; 

Explain to Sally why you git. 

When "Fire Call" blows ! 



14 Khaki Rimes 



A BUM BUGLER 

A bugler once tried to bugle "Tattoo," 

The bugle was old, but the bugler was new; 

The troops were encamped in a wild sylvan glade. 

And the echoes played tag with the discord it made. 

The Colonel, a jolly old cavalry file, 
Thought ''Stables" was blowing; aroused with a smile. 
Turned sleepily over and murmured: "I guess 
That bugler's been drinking again more or less." 

A veteran Captain, who'd heard war's alarms, 

Sprang into his trousers and yelled out: "To arms!" 

The sky-pilot, robed in pajamas of white, 

Said : "Why's that darn 'Church Call' a-blowin' tonight V 

The Medico, late from a man that had snakes, 
Thinks "Sick Call" is blowing and suddenly wakes. 
And utters some swear words — I fear eight or ten, 
And vows he " 'lows Grady has got 'em again 1" 

A shavetail Lieutenant, just out of the Point, 
With chills in his gizzard and aches in each joint. 
Thinks "Mess Call" is blowing and suddenly shoots 
Full out of his blankets and into his boots. 

Top Sergeant rolled out as a deluge splashed o'er, 
And snatched up his blankets from out of the pour. 
As a Corporal near him thought "Fire Call" blew, 
And would fain quench the blaze with a bucket or two. 

Then a man just turned in from his quarterly spree 

Fell out of his blankets and cursed "Reveille," 

While a rook, just enlisted, with tlioughts homeward bent, 

Thoiight sure 'twas the "General" and pulled down his tent! 

In the meantime, the Bugh.r that caused the uproar 
Went back to the guard-tent and bugled once more; 
And tried as he smoothed his curly red pate 
To think what had kicked up the rumpus so great. 

But the regiment's baby, a few tents away, 

Snugged closer to mother to sleepily say: 
"What's 'at call, Mother dear, soundin' such noise? 
I sh'd think they'd know better 'n to wake little boys!" 

But mother says: "Hush-a-bye, Baby dear, do; 
It's just a bum bugler a-blowing 'Tattoo!'" 



Khaki Rimes 15 

THE PASSING OF THE BLUE 

No more the tents gleam snowy white beneath the starry skies ; 
Blent with the khaki atmosphere the walls of khaki rise; 
While marching round the khaki camp are khaki soldiers, too, 
And I, their poet, sadly note the passing of the blue! 
The passing of the blue, my lads, the passing of the blue; 
And I, their poet, sadly note the passing of the blue! 

The khaki bugler blows "First Call" 'neath khaki morning skies, 

And from his khaki blankets watch each khaki figure rise, 

And following some khaki words you see a khaki shoe. 

And I, their poet, sorely grieve the passing of the blue! 

The passing of the blue, my lads, the passing of the blue; 

And I, their poet, sorely grieve the passing of the blue! 

The khaki colonel, mounted well upon his khaki steed, 
Proceeds to drill these khaki forms in khaki stunts they need; 
So thus with khaki orders filled, they're khaki thru and thru, 
And I, their poet, weep and weep, the passing of the blue! 
The passing of the blue, my lads, the passing of the blue ; 
And I, their poet, weep and weep, the passing of the blue! 

But when on khaki battle fields these khaki soldiers scrap. 

The khaki enemy cannot pick out each stripe and shoulder strap; 

My khaki Captain looks just like his khaki soldiers do; 

Then I, their poet, loud applaud the passing of the blue! 

The passing of the blue, my lads, the passing of the blue ; 

Then I, their poet, loud applaud the passing of the blue! 

MY VALENTINE 

My valentine's a soldier fair. 
With rifts of ruddy, curling hair. 
His eyes are of deep sapphire blue; 
I'm sure they're like their color, true. 

Sometimes he's stern and sometimes gay; 

On pass he whiles his time away 

At dances and the matinee. 

He's fond of other girls, I see, 

And sometimes doesn't notice me ; 

But when he does, my heart's aflame 

At smallest mention of my name. 

No use to try my love to smother; 

I never could love any other. 

My own, my sweet, for I'm — his mother! 



i6 Khaki Rimes 

"LONG BOY'S" KETURN 

Gee, fellers ! I'm goin' home ! 

Tho' I didn't pull off any hero stuff, 

Still I think that we've called old Heinie's bluff ; 

For we charged his trench with our Indian yell. 

And we paid him oft' with our shrapnel shell 

And gas and fire and general hell; 

Now I'm goin' home ! 

Gee, fellers! I'm goin' home! 
Tho' it ain't as I thought before the scrap, 
When I came to Europe to change the map, 
And the mugs of the Kaiser's hosts to mar 
And relate the horrors of this here war; 
For I didn't get even a tiny scar, 
Or chevron or cootie or shoulder bar; 
But I'm goin' home! 

Gee, fellers! I'm goin' home! 

Tho' most of our friends are gone with flu, 

And Father is feelin' pretty blue ; 

And my purse like a cast off bandolier. 

And I've lost my job and there's no more beer, 

And I ain't a wearin' a War Cross here, 

And my girl has married a profiteer; 

There are Mother's pies and her heart o' cheer. 

And I'm goin' home! 



"LONG BOY" KE-ENLISTS 

Say, fellers ! I'm goin' back ! 

Tho' I didn't think when I sailed away 

That I'd be makin' so short a stay 

In the home town here in my native state ; 

But I tell you, fellers, that soldierin's great. 

And I'm goin' to re-up as sure as fate; 

Yes, I'm goin' back. 

Say, fellers ! I'm goin' back ! 
For I've seen the corn all growin' green, 
With the squash vines trailin' along between ; 
I've followed all day at the tail of the plow ; 



Khaki Rimes ^7 

I've curried the mule and milked the cow, 
And gathered the eggs from the old haymow; 
But everything seems to be changed, somehow, 
And I'm goin' back! 

Say, fellers! I'm goin' back! 

For I miss the durned old bugle. Gee! 

How I cursed "Fatigue" and "Eeveille" ! 

And expendin' of extra elbow grease, 

On scrubbin' floors and kitchen police. 

And wonderin' when the war would cease; 

Still hopin' we wouldn't sign for peace 

Till we'd grabbed some portion of Heinle's fleece, 

Now I'm goin' back. 

Say, fellers! I'm goin' back! 

It's the life I'm longin' for, I guess, 

With its drill and guard and Army mess. 

And the polishin' gims and growlin', why 

A feller can't always have milk and pie 

With his chow, but I'd can the sigh 

If the Top was cross or the Old Man nigh. 

Seems I couldn't see how hard they'd try 

To keep all their doughboys fed and dry; 

So again I'm biddin' the folks good-bye, 

'Cause I want to 'list for a Regular guy, 

And I'm goin' back! 



MRS. CASEY'S PEOPOSAL 

Mrs. Casey, a blonde and fair to see. 

Was in age perhaps some forty-three. 

From her window watched in her trim door yard, 

Corporal O'Grady doing old guard. 

"It's leap year, Dinnis O'Grady, see! 
Arrah, my dear, will yez marry me?" 
The corporal can scarce believe his ears 
As the widow's full rich brogue he hears. 

Then looks toward her in meek surprise, 
Somewhat of doubt in his clear grey eyes : 

"Faith, it's sure I would, and most happy be. 

But I be married already !" said he. 



l8 Khaki Rimes 



SOLDIER AND GENTLEMAN 

There has been some controversy 

Erom Seattle to New Jersey, 
As to whether he that helps the ranks of Lrncle Sam to swell, 

Being thus a soldier 'listed, 

If temptation he resisted, 
Could not also he a soldier and a gentleman as well ? 

Now you all agree that liquor 

In excess — let us not bicker — 
Disgi'aees any uniform that to this vice is sunk; 

Denotes lack of gentle breeding, 

And from best impulse receding; 
Is any man a gentleman if he is beastly drunk ? 

You perhaps will think it shocking, 

And accuse me, too, of knocking, 
When I tell you what the sergeant told a bunch of drunks at "Taps;" 

"There are gentlemen that's bom thus. 

Others made by act o' congrus, 
But it ain't a case o' chevrons or a case o' shoulder straps." 

It's not up to me the starting 

From old Service customs parting; 
But now why not solve the riddle with a bit of common sense. 

And if one just does his duty 

With a love of order's beputy. 
May not all the men be gentlemen, who fight in Right's defense?" 



THE BUGLER'S VALENTINE 

The Bugler wrote a valentine to Mary Ann, the cook; 

I'd hate to speak of all his work and all the time it took. 

There were roses all around it and cupids by the score 

And there must have been "I love you's" at least a dozen more; 

And when anon her answer came, it took him off his feet. 

He almost dropped the bugle while blowing the "Retreat." 

For Mary Ann, the worldly wise, had made a valentine, 
A wgndrous cake of monstrous size, with candy cupids fine; 
(She knew, the minx, the pathway whereby man's heart to reach; 
And surely his love garden had foimd its gTowing peach!) 
The cake was stuffed with good things, the best upon the shelf ; 
And then the bugler up and went and offered her Himself! 



Khaki Rimes 19 



ARMY FEVER 



When your first long hitx;h is over and you've cashed your finals few, 
And a "Reveille" and hreakfast are all that's left for you, 
And you toy with your collar as yoii don your suit of cits, 
While your bunkie sitting near you has the bluest kind of fits; 
Yon are bubbling o'er with pleasure at the thought of going out; 
The friends at home will welcome you, of that there's not a doubt ; 
But it never seems to strike you that you've made a beaten track. 
In these years you've been a soldier — 

That you might come back! 

So you hasten out as "Recall" blows — last '•all you've had to stand— 
And you bid farewell to comrades, and you wave a parting hand ; 
"First Call" for drill is soimding from the bugle's throat of gold 
But you are free — don't have to stand no drills in heat and cold ; 
Although you get to wondering as these scenes fade from sight, 
If drilling really was so bad and walking post at night ? 
You think of course, when first discharged one feels just sort 0' sad; 
But it's Army Fever symptoms — 

And you've got 'em bad! 

You're in business on the outside and you're making good, it seems; 
But the bugle keeps a-callin' and a-callin' thru your dreams. 
Then some day you meet a soldier out on furlough for a week, 
And you think it's only friendly to go up to him and speak; 

Soon yoti find you know his brother or his cousin or his friend, 
And your job tipon the otitside has fottnd a sudden end ; 
For a longing fierce comes o'er you that your soul cannot resist — 
It's the crisis of the fever — 

And yott re-enlist! 



LEAP YEAR 

L is Lieutenants, bachelors gTtifF, 

E ncamped in quarters lonesome enough. 

A is the Army, a place of wrath ; 

P the privilege that rank hath. 

1' for the year when ladies propose, 

E ntrapping those bachelors, gruff, morose; 

A nd here's to the girls — may they take this tip : 

B hat rack on Leap Year, should H. I. P. !* 



* Rank hath its privileges. 



20 Khaki Rimes 



THE ABANDONED GAKEISON 

She sits beside the summer sea 

With idly folded hands, 
The moonlight shimmering fitfully, 

Across her shifting sands. 
Her barrack windows, lonely eyes. 

Gaze sadly toward the west; 
Nor boom of morn or evening gun, 

Disturbs her unsought rost. 

No blare of bugle's lusty notes 

Call lagging limbs to haste; 
Nor sound of martial music floats 

Across the water's waste. 
Deserted, too, her empty docks 

Creep white into the bay, 
And lying fast at other piers 

Her ships of yesterday. 

No more her starry Flag unfurls, 

Caressed by morning breeze; 
Nor smoke mist from her fire upcurls 

Above the swaying trees. 
Her lonely flagstaff, tall and bare, 

Funereal column white; 
Stands an accusing specter stark 

Against the brooding night. 

Her batteries in silence sleep ; 

No frowning war guns grim, 
Above her ramparts bristling leap, 

To sweep the ocean's rim. 
Like muzzled war-dogs ever bound 

Within their kennels fast, 
In silence they must answer still 

The bugle's battle blast. 

Deserted one, we give to you 

Our sympathy indeed; 
Until a nation brave and true. 

Wakes to its direst need! 



Khaki Rimes 21 



FATE'S FOIBLES 

My lady gay, on her dapple grey 

Rode down thru the cedars at close of day. 

The Sim had suiik in the crimson west, 

His couch in royal splendor drest 

Behind rode the orderly staunch and grim, 

On a coal-black charger, fleet of limb. 

Her tresses were yellow as ripened wheat; 

His short locks, black as his charger fleet. 

Her eyes were as blue as the tropic sea, 

Her skin as of coral and ivory; 

His eyes were dark as the darkest deep, 

Dark his skin where the olive and blush-rose sleep. 

And he loved her so! One could tell it fair, 

By his gentle look and his tender care. 

But they couldn't get married at all! Oh, no! 

Such things in the Army wouldn't go! 

A captain's daughter of high degree 

Gould never wed with the orderly! 

A few years older is each today ; 
Black hair and ruddy has threads of grey. 
Tho youth's glad beauty, perhaps is gone, 
Each face has a gentler charm its own; 
And his eyes so dark, and her eyes so blue 
Are saying sweet things as eyes will do. 

His cook is the orderly's daughter, who bakes 

Such edible pies and toothsome cakes. 

Still smiling, she goes to her work each day, 

Dreaming sometimes of the far away 

War with its changes, heartaches and tears, 

When her father was Captain of Volunteers, 

And she rode thru the cedars so glad and free, 

With a Captain who then was but orderly. 

And she loves him still! You can tell it fair; 
The blue eyes follow him everywhere. 
Still they may not marry at all! Ah, me! 
Such things in the army cannot be. 
For he, a Captain of high degree, 
Couldn't wed the child of the orderly! 



Khaki Rimes 



WINTER IN THE OLD FORT 

It is winter in the garrison. Tlie silver moon so bright, 

Across the snowy ramparts sheds its glow; 
Ancient prison caves, where summer scatters thick her daisies white, 

Lie half hidden in their winding sheet of snow. 

The grim old walls rise upward from the moat of times gone by. 
Where have gaily bloomed the flowers of many a June; 

While beyond, the frowning port-holes, each a sunken, sinister eye, 
Mark the dungeons in the gi-ey old demilune. 

The bristling guns look outward toward the twinkling harbor light. 

That points the pilots brave, where breakers lie; 
While the fisher boats rock briskly in the chilly winter night. 

Silhouetted dark against the frosty sky. 

Human soimds break not the silence, save the sentry's echoing tread. 

As he walks his lonely post so still and white, 
But he knows the tovir's ending toward a haven fair is led. 

Where his welcome gleams from barrack windows bright. 

PILIKIA* 

There's a bogie man a-waiting for each trusting raw recruit, 
And you get his final rating when you don that sky-blue suit. 
You forgot to turn the poster where the pretty soldiers ride. 
And 'tis said a pick and shovel ornament its other side. 
So you came to your first station with your famous football run ; 
Couldn't wait to draw a ration, and a lovely shining gun. 
And with mighty fuss and hitchin' you discard civilian duds; 
Then your first detail, the kitchen — peelin' spuds! 

But of course you're optimistic, and this must be some mistake, 
And you won't be bolshevistic, have a horrid tummy ache; 
So you bear your troubles bravely as a jolly soldier should. 
Till the provost bubbles naively that you chop some wood ! 
Then you're sure it's Pilikia with his cloven hoof and horns, 
As you stop to pull the sandspurs and the algaroba thorns ; 
But again the day is ended and you dream of baseball fans, 
Till the sunrise finds you blended with ten acres of tin cans! 

Pilikia, Pilikia, this is surely his domain! 

And you vow that when you're once discharged you won't re-up again. 

So yoii buy an ukulele, drink some strong o-kole-hao; 

Swear in oaths of pure kanaka that you'll find some leisure now ! 

"Pilikia," Hawaiian for trouble. 



Khaki Rimes 23 



And you find it in the guardhouse, and you find it play in' liard 
With a rake and hoe and shovel in the Missus C.O.'s yard; 
And each angi-y madam orders you to do a dozen stunts, 
"While every woman on the line wants her yard mowed at once! 

So you've made a new discovery, that there's still worse than K. P. 
And you vow on your recovery that you'll choke this Pilikia, 
With the sticks of wood you'll bat him, shower the spuds on him like 

hail; 
Tie those acres ten of tin cans to old Pilikia's tail ! 
Since you've grown a full-fledged soldier, rookie days seem far behind; 
Since each eve bring recreation as each morning lirings its grind ; 
Since there's swimming and athletics, since there's movies and the""Y" • 
Since a soldier is a soldier 'cause he's boimd to be that guy! 



WHE2s^ THE BIG GUNS SHOOT 

I've done a hitch or two myself at soldierin' around. 

In Honolulu, Hampton Koads, 'Frisco, Puget Sound, 

And out near Salt Lake City upon the mountain shelf, 

Was with the 22d Field and liked to spread myself 

A-doin' stunts at monkey drill to make the fellers hoot; 

But them small field guns ain't nothin' when the Big Guns shoot ! 

You are in a snug range station, a-takin' splash and time, 
When up to see the war display, observe the ladies climb ! 
It's fun to see them hold their ears so tight whene'er the guns 
Are climbing into battery, in weight some fifty tons ; 
A-feelin' scared for them to fire and then begin to scoot, 
For you'd think creation busted when the Big Guns shoot! 

The twelve-inch gim's a beauty! It's a great sight, you can bet, 

To see her come in battery above the parapet, 

A-belchin' forth her fire and smoke in one great awful flash! 

Then you look out toward the target, where you see a geyser splash, 

And out beyond another; it's a ricochet to boot. 

Things are goin' some at soldierin' when the Big Gun shoot! 

O, it's fine to be a soldier ! Why man, don't you enlist ? 

It's money in your pockets, and it's better, I insist, 

Than huntin' 'round to find a job when none ain't to be had. 

And your pay is always comin' whether times are good or bad. 

You can see most all your country ; you can't vegetate, take root ; 

Uncle Sammy keeps yoii movin' \\liere his Big Guns shoot! 



24 



Khaki Rimes 



THE LITTLE TIN SOLDIER* 

The little tin soldier marched off to the wars, 
From the village where he was born, 

His fair face turned to the Stripes and Stars ; 
Loud sounded each drum and horn. 

The little tin soldier had curls of gold 
And they vied with his buttons bright, 

His eyes were blue and his heart so bold 
Feared naught of the coming fight. 

So crowded the streets with the gathered throng, 
And so warm shone the morning sun! 

Loud cheers were heard as he passed along, 
Red shone the rose in his gun. 

Then he sang to his comrades when camp was made, 
Of their mothers and sweethearts dear; 

Tho his own dear mother, his comrades said, 
Was in Heaven this many a year. 

The one little child of the regiment 

Embraced him with baby hands, 
As he sang in the twilight before his tent 

Of the fairies of by-low lands. 

It was ever his soft voice, sweet and low, 

At the close of a gory day. 
Seemed somehow to bring from the camp fire's glow 

Dream faces from far away. 

Fate came when the bugles rang shrill and clear, 
With the notes of the call 'To Arms !" 

And he followed the Flag through the jungle drear, 
To the scene of its dread alarms. 

A bullet swift sped from the hidden foe 

Forever the strong heart stilled ; 
No more was the twilight's deepening glow 

With the charm of his music filled. 

So the little Tin Soldier came home from the wars ; 

Soft and low was the music played. 
His form wrapped close in the Stripes and Stars, 

In a hero's grave was laid. 



Khaki Rimes 25 

The volley was fired when prayers were said, 

And the "Taps" sobbed a last farewell; 
White the roses heaped on his narrow bed, 

By the comrades who mourned him well. 

O little Tin Soldier, we loved you so, 

Nor in vain was your life's endeavor, 
For the songs that you sang in the camp fire's glow 

Shall live in our hearts forever! 



WAE'S AFTERMATH 

It seems somewhat enigmatic, in this country democratic, 

Where both officers and soldiers brave, upheld a sacred cause; 

When they crushed that Hun fanatic horde of Attila the Attic, 

With no thought for fame or glory, or their country's loud applause; 

That scarce home their way they'd taken with the Hohenzollern bacon. 
Ere the countryside was shaken by their "statesmen" picking flaws. 

Now with atmosphere erratic, one is bound to get some static — 
Since both soldiers and their officers are cast in human mould; 

Hence we grieve that some phlegmatic, ringboned, spavined old 
rheumatic. 
Should insinuate a moment that both aren't mostly gold. 

Prove it! Glance at late citations; Valor had no limitations 
In this clash with vandal nations. Never can the half be told ! 

Yet with words epigrammatic, motives doubtless morganatic. 
They are telling how some officer abused his sacred rights; 

And with voices operatic, gestures growing more dramatic; 

"No, they wouldn't let our boys go out to see their girls o' nights!" 

They were sick without attendance ! In a war for independence, 
Victory's star in the ascendance, fortitude is his who fights! 

So with hopes again pneumatic, we may dream our dreams prismatic; 

With our dear men coming back to us, doughboy, marine and tar ; 
Tho' our welcome is aquatic, it is still no less emphatic; 

We will cherish them in honor, reverence each battle scar; 
Turn from legions bolshevistic back to regions altruistic, 

Mass for peace our powers linguistic — peace that's peaceful after 
war! 



*Note: — "Tin soldier" is a term applied by the old Regular to soldiers of 
National Guard and Volunteer organizations. 



26 Khaki Rimes 



THE BABY BUGLER 



He awakens when "Reveille" heralds the morn, 
And he blows all the calls on his own little horn. 
The men call him "Buster," and 'most every day 
Begs his daddy to go to the barracks to play. 

To attend all fonnatious liis duty he feels, 
And he comes to attention and cracks his small heels, 
And with ringlets uncovered, clasps cap to his breast, 
As "Retreat" booms salute to the sun in the west; 

And the Flag is swift lowered, still statue-like stands 
Till the last note is sounded, then waves his small hands. 
And calling his dog, how they race o'er parade. 
And make good for the couple of minutes that strayed ! 

Then it's back to his quarters where motherling keeps 
A watch as her baby boy quietly sleeps ; 
And the lady moon peeps o'er the ramparts so grim, 
And the "Tattoo" sounds faintly his lullaby hymn. 



"CHARACTER FAIR" 

Have pity, O judges! Don't kick him out yet! 
Let him have one more chance to reform ; 

For the way is most rough, 

And the times pretty tough 
To turn him adrift in life's storm! 

And you, whose pathway in this journey here, 

In life's pleasant places is set ; 
May not judge him full fair, 
\^^o was born to life's care, 

With its endless worry and fret. 

You say many previous convictions he's had, 
And the Sei-vice's custom says: "Go!" 
Yes, go, man, but where? 
To fall deep in sin's snare, 
Stain darker his soul in his woe! 

Enlist him once more for the flag that he loves, 
And be sure he'll make good and reform; 
For the way is most rough, 
And the times. pretty tough; 
Don't turn him adrift in life's storm! 



Khaki Rimes 27 



THE CONTROVERSY 

The Turkey and the Eagle 

Had a scrap. 

Said the Eagle to the Turk, 

With a smirk : 

"You're a little bit too fat, 

And you're not a diplomat ; 

I'm sure of that." 

Said the Turkey with a smile 

Full of guile ; 

To the Eagle in his pride: 

"I'll confide 

You adorn the Coat-of-Arms ; 

Underneath coats I have charms — 

And some alarms." 

Said the Eagle: "You're so vaiu 

It gives pain; 

With your endless gobbling strut. 

Such a mut !" 

But the Turk replied in scorn : 

"You have screamed since you were born. 

Admit the corn !" 

"And I further, too, will say 
You're okeh 

When on July Fourth you scream 
But I deem 

That you surely must remember, 
'Tho you lord it in July 
When you're soaring fairly high, 
That I for my Country Die, 

In November!" 



PINCHED 

A soldier his home post once neared, 

In an auto car very high geared ; 

Tried to pass an M. P. 

B\it soon found it N. G. 

Now that ride with his Dear is all queered ! 



28 Khaki Rimes 



THE PROVO'* 



If you're livin' in the Army and your Pa's a soldier man, 

You may some time have a casemate f for a home, 
In the walls of some old fortress built upon the castle plan. 

And there's miles and miles of rooms where boys can roam; 
And sometimes the moat has fish in like the one at Fort Monroe; 

From your bedroom window you a line may cast; 
But this pleasure is forbidden by the "Old Man", the "CO.", 

And the Provo's goin' to get you 

If you don't run fast! 

For there's typhoid in the fishes and the oysters and the crabs ; 

And the Provo's watching everywhere for you 
And you can't escape that sergeant when he makes a start and grabs 

Right where you expect him not to do. 
One time he caught us swingin' in some new-himg window frames, 

And for just a minute stood and stared aghast; 
Then the cuss-words 'at uttered would have matched the bluest flames 

And you bet he almost got us, 

But we run so fast! 

And one time upon the ramparts we were playin' in some tar. 

With our hands and arms about as black as sin; 
When that bloomin' Prove' saw us from the guard-house door, afar. 

My! He scared me so 'at time 'at I fell in! 
And the words 'at Ma and Pa said, and the nurse 'at cleaned me up, 

As she greased and scraped and washed and scrubbed and sassed, 
Would have filled to runnin' over of happiness the cup 

Of that provo' man 'at gets you 

If you don't run fast! 

And one time I pasted papers on the milky, silky feet 

Of the Missus "C.O.'s"* Persian Thomas cat. 
And the yowling of that feline as the bugle blew "Retreat" 

Made me wonder where that Provo' Sergeant's at. 
Gee ! He almost nabbed me 'at time as I beat it down the road, 

Vaultin' thru a casemate window as I passed, 
Buttin' in the "C.O.'s" stryker:]: and upsettin' all his load, 

And that Provo' nearly had me, 

But I run too fast! 

So I'm longin' for vacation with its misty summer sky. 

And the thousand goodly stunts 'at I can do; 
For there's divin' and there's swimmin' from torpedo yawls nearby. 

We must surely show '"at Provo' somethin' new ; 



Khaki Rimes 29 



For he's takin' life too easy as he drives them prisoners out, 
And he needs some fresh amusements 'at will last, 

Like a-chasin' kids from mischief in the casemates roimd about; 
And a-makin' like to mill 'em, 

If they don't nm fast! 

EESCUED 

A wreck of a soldier, named Teddy, 
Once slipped from his moorings unsteady; 

From the dock a fall took, 

Was fished up with a hook. 
And for new sorts of stunts is now ready! 



GUARD-HOUSE TOM 

Guard-house Tom is gi'im and gray. 
He's been a prisoner many a day; 
And he's a scrapper, that I know. 
Because I've seen him fighting so! 
Oh, my! Such swear- words he did use! 
No one could stand for such abuse; 
And it was such an awful fight, 
I'm sure Tom saw some stars all right! 

And Tom's a thief, I hate to say; 
He stole some fish and ran away 
From children fishing on the dock. 
I fear we'll need a stronger lock, 
Or increased sentries doing guard, 
For Tom each day gets still more hard ; 
Tho no one seems to care for that, 
For Tom is just the guard-house cat! 

THE SPRINT OF THE SPRINTER. 

There once was a soldier a sprinter, 
Who caught his big toe on a splinter; 

Now the words of that sprint 

Would not do to print 
In the printed print of the prmter. 



* Provost sergeant — Police sergeant, t Casemate — Room in old fort. 
t CO.— The Commanding Officer. 

S Stryker— A soldier employed as lielper in the family of an officer. 
V Mill 'em — Put them in the guard-house. 



30 Khaki Rimes 



"MESS CALL" 



I love to bear the bugle call. Its silvery ncttes so clear, 
Seem always like a lovin' voice a-callin' in my ear. 
But that ain't so of "Reveille", it busts my sleep in two; 
And "Drill Call" gets so tiresome! I like to hear "Tattoo;" 
And "Recall's" a prime favorite, but it ain't hard to guess 
The call that I love most of all — 

It's "Soupie," known as "Mess"! 

Perhaps you're drillin' rookies green. You'd love to turn 'em in. 
You've drilled and sweat and cussed a streak, and then begun again, 
And faced 'em roimd and faced 'em back, and ordered : "Forward, 

March!" 
You wished they'd ginger up a bit and get a little starch ; 
But like a worn-out dish-rag each is slouching more or less; 
Tho rookies learn one thing right quick. 

And that'^ the call "To Mess !" 

It's queer how soldiers kick on mess ! You'd think 'em skin and bones, 
And dyin' with the tummy ache to hear their growls and groans; 
If Captain also buys his grub from out the company store, 
They'll swear he gets the outside fruit and leaves them but the core. 
O, yes ! The cook gets knocked on, too, and even I confess 
For double pay I wouldn't be 

The steward of that mess! 

The Non-coms don't escape their share and each one gets a rap ; 
So when the kitchen you police, just do it up with snap; 
Be sure they ain't no angleworms or centipedes or bug's, 
A-lurkin' in them vegetables ! Be sure to peel the spuds, 
And when above the Army range to fix the fire you stoop. 
Don't scatter coal and cinders in the pot of Army soup; 
And helpin' thus to make things right, your buddies all will bless 
That soldier and musician man 

Who wrote that call "To Mess." 



DOING TIME 

In April a soldier named Ober 
Was chucked in the mill to get sober; 
At some passing recruits. 
Tossed a rock and his boots; 
His time will be up in October! 



I 



Khaki Rimes 31 

A JOKE ON THE PARSON* 

There was once a Regular Army son 

At a minister's table sat; 
Where the Thanksgiving dainties were spread around 

The turkey huge and fat. 

The feast had progressed to the mince pie stage, 

And the boy had been served a share; 
It was flavored with brandy, its bursting crust 

Dispensing a fragrance fair. 

But the lad had been reared as his parents were, 
And his daddie was temperance straight — 

Tho the Army is rumored by those outside, 
To be hitting a terrible gait. 

With a smile the child to his hostess said. 

As he halted and blushed a minute: 
"You'll excuse me, please, but I can't eat this; 

I don't like the brandy in it." 

Then the maid was sent for some pumpkin pie. 
As the parson smiled a bit: 
"The joke's on the Church this time, dear lad, 
And the Army scores a hit!" 



ACROSTIC TO THE FLAG 

A starry emblem greets our eyes, 

that marked a wondrous nation's rise. 
'M id drizzling showers and beaming sim^ 

it waved o'er victories proudly won. 
E mblem of Hope and Tnith full strong; 

of Right triumphant over wrong. 
R oiled thy soft waves on breezes light, 

to bless the dying hero's sight. 
/ n days of gloom each rosy band, 

like sunrise glory kissed the land. 
C an aught inglorious stain thy bars, 

or brand of tyrant quench thy stars? 
A h no ! In triumph thou shall wave, 

o'er victor's home, o'er hero's grave! 



* A true incident. 



32 Khaki Rimes 



ORDEES 

Captain's got a change of station and he's hurryin' fit to bust, 
And the Missus Captain shares his hasty views, 

For she's pullin' down the curtains and a-raisin' such a dust, 
With the pictures, bonnets, books and baby shoes. 

And the cook has left the kitchen in confusion and alarm; 
Captain 's order is a good excuse to change ; 

So the plucky Missus Captain with the baby on her arm. 
Wrests a dinner from the wiley Army range 

While in shirt sleeves Papa Captain is a-nailin' up the crate. 
That was unpacked but a short three months ago; 

And the noisy, joyful kiddies think that movin' time is great, 
As they dance on packing boxes in a row. 

There's an extra rush of parties ; friends must speed the parting guest. 

Missus Captain has a thousand stunts to do; 
As she lengthens Sister's dresses and sews buttons for the rest, 

For the little trip — a thousand miles or two. 

She must find a home for Fido, a new mistress for the cat. 

And perhaps the saddle horses must be sold; 
If perchance she owns an auto, she must make her plans for that, 

And to discard useless furnishings or old. 

Has she orders for the Islands ? Missus Captain doesn't weep ; 

Packs in mothball children's woolen clothes, alack! 
All forgetful of how stealthily old Father Time does creep. 

That the clothes will be outgi'own when she comes back ! 

If she's ordered to Alaska, Missus Captain's busy then, 
Buyin' heaps of shoes and warmest winter clothes; 

And she gets assorted sizes, buys 'em six and eight and ten. 
For imprisonment in Arctic ice and snows. 

Missus Captain's always cheerful, with her smile and bit of fun ; 

Says: "I'd like to own a simple vine-clad hut; 
Uncle Sammy's sort of naughty tho, to keep us on the run, 

Guess he's scared for fear we'll get into a rut." 

Here's to plucky Missus Captain, and her kiddies — one, two, three; 

May she draw a station with a children's school ; 
May they flourish in transplanting as the graceful cedar tree. 

Whether fanned by tropic breezes or by cool ! 



Khaki Rimes 33 

May she find enough companions for a friendly game of bridge ; 

For a sewing bee and jolly hop again; 
In her home beyond the ocean, or the snow-capped moimtains' ridge; 

For she's of the bravest of our Uncle Sammy's men! 



PLANTIN' MINES 

It's early in the siunmertime, that's when the fim begins, 
And keeps you steppin' lively till you wish yourself was twins; 
And you hustle out the yawl boats, notin' of the water's looks, 
Get your mines and buoys and anchors, cable coils and sister hooks, 
As you wait the tide incomin', then to each his work assigns; 
But it's often strenuous business when you're 

Plantin' mines. 

You're aboard the big mine-planter and the waves are runnin' high; 
And you're gettin' awful seasick, wonderin' if you're goin' to die; 
And your brain has got all tangled, and you lose your old-time spunk, 
And you wonder what in thunder is the use of all this junk; 
But you've 'listed for your country, to protect its vast confines, 
Even if you heave up Jonah, while you're 

Plantin' mines. 

Now you realize in wintertime, when outside work is done, 
And you see a cleaner wrestlin' with the snow on some big gun; 
When you're gathered at Thanksgiving round the groaning festal board, 
That for joys of this same season, you can very well afford 
To spend the fleetin' summer days witi ropes and heavin' lines. 
For the pleasant winter season after 

Plantin' mines. 



DISAPPOINTED 

A film of Annette was once shown 
In a far island garrison lone; 
At the charmingest view 
The film broke in two. 
All the soldiers emitted a groan. 



34 Khaki Rimes 

TO SERGEANT FERRY, NINETY-SEVENTH CO., C. A. C. 
On His Retirement after thirty years' faithful and honorable service. 

There's a sergeant in onr company and it's Ferry is his name; 

And he's wearin' nary medal or a cross ; 
Bnt I think his name'.s recorded in war's bloody hall of fame, 

Tho his face recruitin' posters don't emboss. 
For within onr little garrison there's merit to be won 

Even in this strenuous peaceful time; 
It's the women do be praisin' him for valiant deeds he's done; 

It's Himself's the conquerin' hero of this rime 

For 'twas Ferry once was boat guard, when the childer went to school, 

Suicidal seemed each small boy's sole intent; 
Hanging by their toes in mid-air o'er the luring waters cool, 

Every urchin of 'em deep on mischief bent 
But the sergeant snatched them safely from a wet and early grave. 

Laughing loud he dried each baby face of tears; 
'Tis the medals of their friendship shall award his actions brave. 

And shall decorate the mantle of his years. 

It's some childer has the sergeant, yes some six or eight or ten; 

There are shoes and trousers small that must be bought; 
And it's wisdom has he also; as becomin' Christian men, 

He some help of good St. Anthony besought. 
Still beknowin' 'tho was Ferry that the blessin's of thim saints 

Is upon the head of him who helps himself: 
So instead of naggin' Heaven with his weepin' and complaints. 

Sets him out to get a bit of honest pelf. 

Buys himself a bunch o' chickens, and some milch coos, three or four, 

For 'tis Ferry scents a bargain miles away; 
Then he hies him to an auction and he buys a few coos more, 

And a horse and wagon just to close the day. 
He's so wiley is the sergeant with his gentle-uttered swear. 

Faith, you'll tind it useless cheatin' him in trade; 
Sure you'll find it's better business if your dealin's on the square 

Or belike you'll rue the bargain you have made. 

Here's a toast to Sergeant Ferry and his childer large and small; 

And his faithful partner of earth's joy and strife; 
Be his efforts now rewarded in the peace that comes to all. 

Who have given to the Flag the best of life; 
And when "Call to Quarters" sounding from the bugle in the sky, 

Fill the gathering serried ranks of broken gaps; 
And he hears its golden summons sounding clearly from on high, 

He will not be absent when it's time for "Taps." 



Khaki Rimes 35 



WHEN MY DADDIE MADE ONE HUNDRED PER CENT 
Target Practise from the Small Soldier's Viewpoint. 

"You know my Daddie? He's CO. Let all your Daddie's fade; 

'Cause all the papers got the news about the score he made, 

A-firing at a target that was towed four miles away! 

Guess your Pa couldn't shoot a gim to score a hundred — Say! 

My Pa he's just as proud as proud, as anyone can be, 

And every night he reads about hisself to Ma and me ; 

And Ma says as she kisses him : 'We'll put it all in rime,' 

And then I cuddle closer up and ask him for a dime ; 

Then Mother winks and laughs again. Gee. but it's lots of fun, 

When my Daddie makes a hundred with the eight-inch gun!" 

"Last night they had his picture in an Army magazine, 
And lots of things my Pa had said about his being keen 
On blending powder so each load would be exactly right; 
So one charge wouldn't underweigh the leastest tinty might; 
And how some soldiers fit in place like paper on the wall, 
While others tho thy try and try, can't point a gun at all. 
Yes, you can bet my Pa is proud he's earned such honest fame; 
Our band professor made a march and callvid it my Pa's name. 
Pm just so proud that he's my Pa and I'm his loving son, 
Since my Daddie made a hundred with the eight-inch gun!" 

"The picture man came here from town, to make more pictures, too; 

And everywhere those eight-inch shots had pierced the target thru, 

My Daddie put a little flag to show the very place. 

The soldiers of his company all stood around the base. 

And I upon the very top. That picture it was swell! 

He'll soon get rich, the picture man, with scenes like that to sell. 

And so my Daddie's all puffed up, and I'll not be surprised. 

If every other post we live he'll get well advertised; 

He'll be so proud to show the powers just how this war game's won — 

Since my Daddie made a hundred with the eight-inch gun!" 



"OVER THE HILL" 

There was once in the service a gunner, 
At hitting the target a stunner; 

But after a lark. 

Hit a four-masted barque, 
And has since proved a very good runner! 



36 Khaki Rimes 

FEOM A PEIVATE'S JOLONEL 

There once was an old army colonel, 
Whose wit was a well spring etolonel ; 
But for those who would shirk 
From their authorized work, 
His language was something infolonel ! 



"OVEKCOATS !" 

Whene'er I hear "First Call" a-sounding. 
Its echoes sweet and clear resounding 
Thru the crispy, wintry atmosphere. 
From out the bugle's golden throat, 
There's something missing in its note, 
Unless attached unto its ending. 
These bars the morning frosts a-rending: 

"Overcoats ! Overcoats ! Overcoats !'" 

Sometimes its "Guard Mount," "First Call" warning, 
So clear and freezing cold the morning! 
And the soldiers all, both young and old, 
Unmindful of the ice afloat 
Within the grim old fortress moat, 
Are listening for the strain that's ending, 
Upon this chilly day befriending: 

"Overcoats! Overcoats! Overcoats!'" 

Perhaps "Ketreat," "First Call" arousing 
From bunk fatigue so sweet a-drowsing, 
The soldier springs upon his feet; 

As breaking thru his dreams remote. 
He hears the "First Call's" lusty note, 
And listens close to hear its ending. 
These added chords a sweet charm blending: 

"Overcoats ! Overcoats ! Overcoats !'" 



RIGHTEOUSLY INDIGNANT 

There once was a sergeant named Aaron, 
Who was not addicted to swearon ; 
But when rookies paraded 
With mien worn and jaded, 

Then Aaron was rearon' and tearon' ! 



Khaki Rimes 37 



SALLY AND THE SENTRY 

Sweet Sally by the window stands, some dainty china washing; 
The ice gems on the window panes bright simset jewels flashing; 
The Sentry goes his evening rounds adown the snowy alley, 
And, coming past the window, smiles and doffs his cap to Sally. 
Sweet Sally's eyes are hazel brown, her dark hair soft and shining 
With saucy ringlets hanging down about her small ears twining. 
Her smile it sparkles like the sun on frostwork passamenterie, 
And true love's ways quite smoothly run for 

Sally and the Sentry. 

The sentry's shoulder, broad and strong, his burnished gun is holding, 
With overcoat of olive drab and cartridge belt enfolding; 
His keen g^ey eyes look brightly out 'neath cap so warm and furry. 
While stray some wavy locks about, white flecked with snowflake's 

flurry. 
He's trim and neat, and snug and warm, while Sally's smile so cheery 
Has made him happy as a king, despite the winter dreary. 
That kitchen is enchanted land, that window port of entry. 
And youth the beach's shining strand, for 

Sally and the Sentry. 

He walks his rounds with tireless feet, nor heeds the darkness gloomy; 
The shade drawn back, a bright light shines from out the kitchen 

roomy; 
A song floats out upon the night in sweet-voiced music ringing; 
The soldier dreams of childhood bright and mother's voice a-singing; 
And Sally knows that shortly now the Sentry's tour io over, 
And thru the frosty window pane takes sly peeps at her lover; 
And even in your high estate, among the "landed gentry," 
You're half a mind to envy her — 

Sweet Sally f.nd her Sentry! 



THE LAUNCHING 

Once a man at Ford Island I knew. 
Who built a small sea craft for two; 
At its launching 'twas laden 
With him and one maiden ; 
And 'twas christened the Shorty Maru! 



38 Khaki Rimes 

LEFT BEHIND 



There was once known a soldier to brag on, 
How he St. George could fight or the dragon; 

But his car steamed away, 

Left him there that cold day, 
With his beautiful red and green jag on! 
(Then he rode in the hurry-up wagon.) 

FORTKESS MONEOE 

A grim old fortress stands beside the sea, 
It tells of valiant deeds to you and me; 

Of great ironclads contending 

In a battle fierce, and ending 
For our nation in a glorious victory. 



This grim old fortress tales of labor knows; 

Of weary slaves that toiled thru suns and snows; 

Toiled like Pharaoh's slaves of old; 

Built the bastions strong and bold, 
That they might withstand a nation's million foes. 

O fortress gray ! Beneath thy ivied towers, 
Magnolia scented, moonlit fairy bowers. 
Where tiny fledgling sparrows sleep, 
There lovers true, their vigils keep; 
The Southern night wreaths magic in her hours! 

O fortress brave! O sentry grim and bold! 

A nation's honor hast thou in thy hold; 
And freed men brave, her minion's sons, 
Have helped to man thy bristling guns. 

And died beneath her banner's crimson fold ! 



STUB'S REQUEST 

"Don't play no 'Taps' above my grave," 

Said Stub, the orderly ; 
"When you plant me, I want it done 

To the sound of 'Reveille' ; 
Thus doing my last bunk fatigue, 

Old Glory close wrapped o'er, 
A-thru my dreams the bugle calls: 

'I can't get 'em up no more!' " 



Khaki Rimes 39 

MAEOONED 

There was once a Major named Harrison, 
Sent out to coinmaud a small garrison; 

And they say he did roast 

That small island post 
With adjectives slow of comparison! 

THE SOLDIEK'S NEW YEAR 

Fare you well, O pretty lasses ! 

We have overstayed our passes, 
And we'sure sure to get restricted and a fine; 

So we'll drink another bout. 

As we watch the old year out; 
"O' kindliness for days o' auld lang syne." 

And we'll sing our final song 

As we hurry fast along. 
For the Glad New Tear has now replaced the old; 

And we'll go back with a will, 

Do our sentence in the mill. 
Lest our resolutions freeze out in the cold. 

For the bravest battles fought 

Are not always on the spot 
Where the fiery shrapnel rains down far and wide; 

But where voices from within 

Seem to urge your soul to sin, 
And your spirit wins a victory inside! 

Howls outside the winter storm, 

In the barrack snug and warm, 
Curl the smoke wreaths from our spacious cozy den; 

With the old Red, White and Blue, 

Pledged for faith and valor, too, 
In the ranks of Uncle Sammy's fighting men! 

REJECTED 

A soldier once had an aifinity 

For a wondrously fair young divinity; 

But she in her store. 

Had lovers galore, 
So told him to go to — infinity! 



40 Khaki Rimes 



THE FATE O' SHANNON 

There once was a rookie, O'Shannon, 
Who looked down the mouth of a cannon ; 

But that cannon was fired, 

And the gunners, tho tired. 
Still hunt souvenirs of O'Shannon! 



A CHRISTMAS TOAST TO THE NINTH MINE COMPANY 

O we've hauled the anchor in 

And detached the shackle pin; 
Stored the cable, mines and buoys all away; 

And the mine caps strung along 

On the iron girders strong. 
Hang like bells to chime the gladsome Christmas day! 

Safe is each torpedo yawl — ■ 
Hark! I hear the bugle call 
To the toothsome feast and fragrant Christmas pipes! 
Here's a toast, dear friends, to you 
Of the old days sweet and true — 
Merry Christmas 'neath the glorious Stars and Stripes! 



ENVIRONMENT 

"What are you playing, Dear ?" I asked 

The Captain's tiny son. 
One wee hand carried rake and hoe, 

And one his small toy gun. 

"Why don't you know?" he said, and smiled 
With quaint and childish charm; 

"Today I'm playing that I am 
Lieutenant of a farm." 



ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH (BOARD) 

There was once a casemate electrician 

Came off pass in a state of contrition ; 

And so nearly he dozed, 

As the wrong switch he closed, 

He is now staying with his physician. 



Khaki Rimes 41 



THE RECRUIT 

To the Sergeant's Baby. 
Have you heard about the last recruit, 

That 'listed t'other daj'^ 
He isn't very big. I'm 'fraid 

He'll scarcely draw his pay. 
He's good at doing bunk fatigue 

And kicking, too, I guess^ 
But, unlike other soldiers, he 

Don't kick about the mess. 
The ladies think he's just as sweet, 

And call him "Dear" and "Dove" ! 
Indeed, he must be Cupid's own, 
His daddie's name is Love. 

A SLIGHT MISTAKE 

In New York, a soldier named Bisco, 
Bent on re-enlistment in his Co., 

Awoke aboard ship 

On a war-hunting trip. 
He'd 'listed Marine, out in 'Frisco! 

HER REASONS 

Went Mildred to the Philippines 

With Uncle Doctor Jay, 
And cholera being bad that year. 

The wee one might not play 
With small brown pickaninnies. 

Or touch the fruit so fair, 
Or anything imsterilized, 

Lest dread disease lurked there. 
"Why don't you play with native kids?" 

Her uncle's friend advised. 
"I tan't," said Mildred, "p'ay wif 'em, 

Tause 'ey 're not sterilized!" 

SOME LOST CHEVRONS 

There once was a corporal much trusted, 
Whose morals became somewhat rusted. 

Who on one fateful night 

Threw a cat at the light, 
And now that poor corporal is busted. 



42 Khaki Rimes 

THE ENGINEER'S CHRISTMAS DREAM 

The artillery engineer sat in his den^ 
Writing away with his big stub pen. 
The "Call to Quarters" was softly sounding, 
The breakers rough on the rocks were pounding ; 
His hair was unkempt and his face was gTay 
With the grime of work he had done that day ; 
While great spots of grease bespattered his clothes, 
And the smoke from his cigarette arose 
In pale blue rings to the girders flung, 
Where, like huge black bells, the mine caps hung; 
And mines recumbent and mines afloat 
Made ready for wars, near or remote. 



Block and Tackle. 





Ground Mine "A Mine Buoy 

Buoy. Crab." 



There were heaps of buoys and chains and shackles ; 
Turks' heads, anchors, and blocks and tackles; 
There were hydraulic jacks and shears and jin, 
And a tank for keeping the cable in; 
Thisre was cable enough to reach Japan 
To explode the ships of his brother man. 
It was Christmas eve! How long it had seemed. 
As he sat at his desk and dreamed and dreamed 
Of his boyhood's tree, — oh, so long ago !^ 
And a stocking stuffed full from top to toe. 
With heaps of new toys so queer and so quaint 
Brought down in the night by the Christmas Saint! 



Khaki Rimes 43 

But what is that looms from the corner there! 
Can it be a tree so huge and fair ? 
And is that a stocking that hangs beside? 
He starts, and his eyes gi'ow so big and wide! 
No! Yes! He'd mistaken a year or so, 
For the stocking was stuffed from top to toe 
With queer-looking things that wiggled about; 
And, yes ! One was actually crawling out ! 



Anchor. 





With Spines All Boyant Mine, 

Over Him Small. 

. Sticking Out 

"What! A mine buoy crab, oh, yes I see!" 
He had heard there were queer things in the sea; 
Then a creature much larger crawled about, 
There were spines all over him sticking out; 
And one larger than he, with fins and scales, 
And they all had such long, thin, snaky tails! 
Then one tliat came crawling along the ground 
Was shaped like a gigantic biscuit round 
And black and ugly with saucer eyes, 
While last reserved, most horrible surprise. 
Came one from whose center radiated 
Fierce, long black tentacles unsated 



XIII> 



Buoyant Mine, "One Larger, 

Large. with Fins and 



Scales." 



This ugly old cuttle came creeping o'er 

The edge of the stocking, dropped to the floor 

And straight for the engineer crawling came. 



44 Khaki Rimes 

While tis small black eyes had a wicked flame; 

But just as a long black coil he flung out 

To enwrap his scared victim close about, 

A loud crash was heard and then soimds of glee; 

'Twas the gim and the Christmas "Reveille" ! 



Keg Buoy. 

Ground Mine. "Was Shaped 

Like a 

Gigantic Biscuit 

Round." 



Awakening, our engineer saw with dismay 

He'd slept in the storehouse till break of day. 

The torpedo materials lying about 

Were the creatures crawled from the stocking out; 

And the mines with their lengthy cable tails 

Were the horrible things with fins and scales 

And with saucer eyes and such ugly shape, 

From which he was glad he had made escape; 

While the cuttle that caused him such terrible shocks 

Was only a distribution-box. 

So he crept to his quarters in time to see 
His little ones dance 'round their Christmas-tree, 
And to help their mother distribute gifts, 
Till the sunshine came in its golden rifts 
Of the Christmas morning so bright and fair, 
Dispensing peace and good-will everywhere 



j*Av 




Distribution "His Small Black 

Box. Eyes Had a 

Wicked Mame." 



Khaki Rimes I ac 

GOING UP 



There once was a laddie, a flier, 
Called his Moana Maid to admire, 

But his plane came to grief, 

Down on Waikiki reef; 
When released he will doubtless fly higher! 



OUT OF SIGHT! 

"Aha !" sneered a Thanksgiving turkey, 
And held up his head very perky; 

As a soldier he spied, 

With a gun at his side, 
"I'll beat it. The prospect looks murky !" 



DISCOVEEED 

There once was a prisoner who fain 
His freedom once more would resain : 
So he cut out his way 
Thru the guardhouse, one day. 
And he now sports a ball and a chain! 



IN THE MINE COMPANY 

Young Lieutenant MacPherson Van Tyne 
Sat down on a new loaded mine 

Said he: "By my whittle, 

I'll rock it a little !" 
No caisson and flags for Van Tyne! 



46 Khaki Rimes 

THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL 

Comrade, farewell! 'Tis here the parting lies. 
'Tho distance may not sever friendship's ties. 
Tomorrow's gun booms out the "Reveille," 
The sun beams cold across the wintry sea; 
The sweet-voiced bugle's notes a discord play, 
Since you are going, Comrade, far away. 

Tomorrow's "Guard Moimt" finds not all in place; 
Gone from the ranks is one familiar face. 
So at "Retreat's" formation you are missed; 
The flag, swift lowered, by the sunset kissed, 
Floats downward toward the amber-glowing bay. 
Where rock the fisher boats at close of day. 

The "Tattoo's" echoing notes ring sweet and clear; 
The barrack lights are out, you are not here; 
The "Call to Quarters" blows and faint and far 
The moonlight falls across the harbor bar; 
Your empty bunk a tale of parting tells, 
And "Taps" is calling softly last farewells! 




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